Page 1 of Joy Ride
Chapter One
Oh great.Here we go.My truck immediately slows to a bumpy uneven crawl. Shit. I checked my wheels before I left but hell. I peek in my rearview for pieces of my blown to bits tire strewn across the road, but of course, I can’t see diddly squat because I’m in some nightmare blizzard.
This drive was supposed to be a chance for me to unwind after working four, consecutive sixteen-hour days in a row decking the halls of one of Jackson Hole’s swankiest hotels. The owners gave me the lobby as a test and promised if I decorated it to their satisfaction, they’d book me for the next holiday.
But now, I’m quickly losing myho, ho, ho.Flurries of fat snowflakes splatter over the freeway in waves, while the rim of my blown-out tire crunches over the ice. I’ve pulled over as far as possible, but I can’t drive like this forever.
It must’ve dropped thirty degrees in the past hour; the sun’s starting to go down, and my phone is on the fritz. Not good.
But there’s no need to panic.
I’ve changed plenty of tires before. If I had to wait for a tow truck service every time I had car trouble, I’d never get anywhere.
Besides, I’m a West, and Wests don’t need to rely on anyone. But I could kill myself changing a tire in weather like this. I should’ve listened to my parents and left the ranch earlier.
What the hell am I going to do?
Last time I checked my GPS, it said I was getting close to my cousin Chase’s ranch, where I’m spending Christmas. But in this white out? I’m not sure where I am now.
Damn. A seven-hour haul from Wyoming, and I almost made it. I shift in my car and stare at what little I can see out the window. The trees shake violently, leaves shuddering in the wind. The surface outside my door looks like slushy soup.
Thankfully, I catch a glimpse of lights flickering up the road, not too far away. Holding my breath, I cautiously pull over and park next to a snow bank that must be four feet high. My poor rims are completely trashed now.
After I turn off the ignition, I run through my list. As much as I don’t feel like slogging in this weather to some stranger’s home in the middle of nowhere, what choice do I have?
Hat. I pull my fuzzy beanie down so it’ll cover my ears.Check.
Phone. I look down at the black screen and shove my cell in my pocket. It’s dead butcheck.I grab my charger, so I can plug it in the second I’m near an outlet. My favorite puffy coat with the furry hood came with a guarantee to keep me warm ten degrees below zero. Here comes the test.Check.
Dragging my suitcase behind me in the snow isn’t an option. I just pray whoever opens the door for me will let me crash on their couch in my clothes.
Oh yeah. I bend and feel around under my seat. Gun.Check.You can’t be too careful. I tuck my Glock 26 Gen 5 in my jean’s waistband. It’s small, but even if it protrudes a bit from under my shirt, my bulky coat will hide the lump. No one will know I’m carrying. Heck, they’ll probably think I’m the abominable snow man.
After grabbing my keys, I brace myself and head out.
The wind howls in my ears, echoing against the banks, scolding me for leaving Wyoming so late. A strong, icy gust almost knocks me off my feet, but I tromp through the slippery sludge and keep my eyes peeled on the target—the only possible refuge for miles as far as I can tell.
My coat’s keeping me toasty though, and I get a burst of hope when I think I spot a roofline. The lights are probably coming from someone’s house. Best scenario would be if one of those sweet Hallmark movie families live there. I can just imagine children running around in little elf onesies, baking cookies. Wouldn’t that be great? I could go for a gingerbread cookie and a hot mug of cocoa right about now.
If all goes well, I’ll have kids of my own someday. I’m only twenty-one, the baby of the family, so I have plenty of time, just haven’t found the perfect man or lost my virginity yet.
Welp. It seems I made a slight miscalculation. I plant my boots in the snow while my heart drops. Munching on cookies and playing with kids in front of a roaring fire won’t be happening tonight.
The place I had high hopes for isn’t even a house; it’s a deserted dive called Boondocks. The rusty, blue neon sign is obviously on its last legs because the third “O” in Boondocks is sputtering on and off behind the drizzle of flurries, about to go out.
Damn. My hands are starting to get clammy, which is a major feat in this bitter cold. Please, let someone be inside to let me in. I tread through the slippery and deadly quiet parking lot while trying not to get creeped out. There isn’t a car or anything moving besides the snow pummeling my face.
I tromp up the slick wood stairs to the entrance and press my frozen nose against the frosty window pane. The porch light is on, so it’s bright out here, but the interior is dark. There’s a big bar, and a few tables with chairs on top, like they recently washed the floors. A jukebox in the corner blinks, but other than that, there’s no sign of life…
But maybe, just maybe…I rap on the door and wait.
There’s no answer, so I knock again, harder this time. “Hello!” I shout over the gusty wind and pound on the window. “Anyone home?” Now I’m getting worried.
What the hell will I do if I’m stuck out here?
The heater in my car won’t hold up all night. I’ll probably run out of gas and freeze if I don’t die from carbon monoxide poisoning.
I run in place to warm up, reminding myself that Dad calls me plucky. Says I have gumption and I’m a resourceful woman. “Please open!” I bang on the wall and then the window again. “This is an emergency!” Still no sound from inside.
